


You Make Me

by halotolerant



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, BDSM, Consensual Kink, Enthusiastic Consent, Ficlet, First Time, Humiliation, M/M, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-15
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-05 09:50:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halotolerant/pseuds/halotolerant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade has a humiliation kink. John obliges. For reasons that probably make sense to someone, Sherlock is invited along. He finds it... less ridiculous than he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Make Me

**Author's Note:**

> For swing_set who prompted 'Lestrade, humiliation kink' - context-free smut ficlet, but with no actual sex per se (sorry) 
> 
> Additional Warnings: Contains verbal humiliation kink and belitting of submissive within the setting of enthusiastic mutual consent

It is very stupid, Sherlock thinks. But then, apparently they know that.

“Do you have any idea,” John asks, sneering, “how ridiculous you look just now?”

Lestrade makes a noise that could mean anything. He’s lying face down, prostrate on the cold concrete of the warehouse floor. Naked. 

Illogical. Highly, highly illogical, though Sherlock had admittedly seen even more idiotic things that were worse for being socially acceptable and thus widely encountered. Fake tan (the point of which was?), ‘low fat’ yoghurts brimming with sugar (it was all the same to the body), the fifteen page health and safety document one had to sign just to hold a key to the Barts laboratory; the list went on. 

Sherlock steeples his fingers, leans forward in the faintly incongruous office chair they’ve provided, and doesn’t tell them how silly this is just yet.

John is pacing the floor, round and round Lestrade, hands behind his back in tight leather gloves. 

“You’re naked, on the ground, in the filth. You’re lower than the rats, at least they don’t have choice in living here, pissing here – you’d lie there till you pissed yourself and liked it, I know. Even if I was watching, even if I just stayed, staring at you, waiting.”

Sherlock rarely hears strong emotion from John. A blast of anger, a twitch of irritation, not this. Not this slow burn of feeling, the way his muscles clench as he strides, hands striking each other now, the thwap of leather on leather making Lestrade jerk like an electric current is running through him. 

John’s face is flushed, a high feverish spot of colour in each cheek. Suddenly he’s kneeling, grabbing Lestrade’s hair in one hand, yanking his head back just exactly far enough to hurt without harming. 

Sherlock realises he’s tensed himself, instinct pushing him to intervene. He isn’t horrified, had not expected to be, but he isn’t laughing any more either.

It’s... compelling. 

“And now he can see it too,” John’s murmuring, breaking off to bite Lestrade’s neck, once, hard, then spit and make a noise of disgust. “You taste like the filth you live in. Do you want him to know that too? Don’t you care that he can see you, your arse, your dick, your filthy dick. I bet it’s hard. I bet if I kicked you over and looked you’d be hard, you pervert.”

Lestrade’s eyes roll back, he’s panting heavily. Almost too fast for Sherlock to see – almost – John rubs the skin above his elbow and, in a split second, Lestrade makes a thumbs up gesture. Nodding, John draws back and then, as if that moment had never happened, slaps a gloved hand to Lestrade’s arse, leaving a red echo behind. 

Lestrade whimpers, his whole body jack-knifing, and Sherlock’s standing up now and doesn’t quite remember getting there.

John looks at him, narrowing his eyes, a question. 

Sherlock steps forward. He has really _got_ to ask John how he does this, where this power comes from, how he makes himself be that voice, that all-powerful hungry demand that makes one _want_...

“Sherlock thinks you’re filthy too,” John says coldly, staring at Sherlock, hand trailing idly over Lestrade’s skin. “He’s not going to tell you so, not until he knows the rules, you’re still my slut – you know what slut means, don’t you Lestrade? It means dirty. But he’s going to help me educate you. He’s going to help me show you what a filthy, dirty thing you are.” He kneels, the gloved hand reaching under: “Yeah, hard as a rock aren’t you? You’re going to make such a mess.”

Sherlock draws himself up, staring down at them. “I’m hard,” he informs John levelly. “Are you going to punish me too?”

John raises an eyebrow at him and for a second there’s a smile more like glee than Sherlock’s ever seen on him. 

“Get on the floor,” he says softly, dangerously, _perfectly_.

\- - - 


End file.
